Raise Hell
by Silico
Summary: With most of the world believing Robin to be dead, the youngest Wayne prepares to break his big brother and former mentor from the grasp of the Crime Syndicate. Hopefully, before it's too late.
1. Inside the Demon's Tower

**A/N: Events to loosely follow the Forever Evil arc (reading not required.) Universe is going to be a bit of a blend of pre/post 52 with some personal touches.**

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**1. Inside the Demon's Tower**

The tritely named Crime Syndicate was comprised entirely of infants_. _Infants who could not accept their own destruction and had moved on to wreak havoc on a world that was not their own. "You _must_ intervene, Grandfather. The situation is out of hand. It is unnatural."

Damian Wayne's voice rang out from beside a window on the circumference of his grandfather's study. It rebounded off the high, stone ceiling and broke the silence that had started over five minutes ago, since his arrival at the very top of the Demon's Tower.

Ra's al Ghul did not bother lifting his head to look over at his grandson.

"It is not of your concern." He didn't have the time to be entertaining the child. There were pressing matters at hand, which so happened to do with what the boy was talking about. That didn't mean they would air the matter together. The Crime Syndicate, comprised of alternate and very twisted versions of Earth's own Justice League members had appeared not long ago, and instantly begun to wreak havoc on the world. "I would have thought you to have a graduated understanding of what _natural _is by now, Damian," Ra's continued, returning his focus to the scrawled documents before him.

Damian's silhouette diminished against the window, his shoulders tightening. He wouldn't have imagined the great Ra's al Ghul to stoop himself to _goading. _But then again, Damian had been in his Grandfather's 'care' for several months now. Even mountains slid eventually, as much as his grandfather preferred to pretend otherwise. Damian's hand twitched upward to rub a phantom pain in the center of his chest, before forcibly lowering it and turning to face the man behind the desk.

"If we allow the imposters to continue there will be no ashes left for you to shape, as you so like to do. The Superman imposter altered the Moon's orbit," Damian said, as he came to stand in the center of the room, his hands clasping together at the small of his back. He stood as tall as his 4'7" frame would allow, and kept his shoulders squared. "I request permission to return to Gotham."

The Demon studied him in silence from below his slanting brows. Damian did not tremble under the scrutiny, standing firmly like a soldier at parade rest.

"Gotham City is no longer your concern."

"It is more of my concern than ever. Father is… gone. It is my duty to protect the city. I am the Heir, as you have told me countless times in the past. You cannot deny this of me," Damian protested, his hands curling into fists.

"And your first course of action?" One of his lips drew upward; Ra's had thought the boy's obsession would have quelled by now. They had tried to guarantee this.

"To take back control of the streets from the filth, of course," Damian said, his posture relaxing slightly as he approached the ornate wooden desk his grandfather sat behind, and prepared to launch into his plan.

"So then it would _not_ be to liberate your former partner?" Ra's asked coldly, and Damian froze just as he was about to reach the desk, his mouth slightly open. "I was informed of your duress over the broadcast," he said.

"_Tt_. Grayson was an imbecile to have been caught in the first place," Damian said. Images of Richard Grayson thrown by the feet of the Syndicate, bruised and beaten, lurched unbidden into his mind courtesy of the broadcast to which his grandfather referred. Damian clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes roaming the wall opposite as he struggled to recover while waiting for the impending lecture.

When it did not come, he turned his head slightly to glance at the Demon. The man had returned his attention to the ancient book open before him. Sensing his grandson's gaze, he arched his brows in dismissal though he did not look up as he spoke.

"The sentimentality is not becoming of you. Your emotions have yet to level as your body adjusts to its first time in the Lazarus Pit. You are not ready to return to the city," he said, and lifted his hand to indicate that it was time for Damian to leave.

Two small fists slammed down on the edge of the man's desk before swiping to the side, causing a number of items to scatter across the ground. The Demon did little more than lift his head to look at the snarling face of his formerly composed grandson.

"Sentimental, Grandfather? Perhaps it runs in my blood. Here I stand, when you have an army of my _brothers_ cooking underground," he spat. The boy turned on his heel and stormed for the door, red blurring his vision. He waved his hand to ward off his grandfather's guards, in a motion achingly similar to the one the Demon had just performed. The men only adhered to the boy's desires only after checking with their Master; though they followed the fuming child down the hall at a distance.

Damian stalked through the stone corridor and down several spiraling stone stairways until he opened the door to his quarters and slammed it behind him. Once inside he took a deep breath and pressed his shoulder blades against the thick wooden panel. Letting it out slowly, his body slowly deflated and relaxed against the door. He reached out to the side with one hand and slid the lock into place.

The Tower was not a prison. This was something that he had been told upon his arrival; the quarters he had been provided were large. Stone, of course, like the entire tower and the rest of the compound. The furnishings were limited, but of high quality. The bed was covered in Egyptian Cotton bed cloths; 1000 thread count, of course, with a cervical roll to serve as a pillow. A chandelier hanging from the high ceiling was the main source of lighting, though there were several smaller lamps to fill the darker corners, like the one that had become his reading nooks. Prisoners didn't get reading nooks.

There was plenty of natural lighting. Most of the windows were large enough to squeeze through if it weren't for the bars that covered them all. They were decorative bars, forming intricate quatrefoil patterns that could be considered an aesthetic choice, but they were bars none the less. An arched doorway led to a bathing area, and a second led to the hall. Two guards were stationed at the door at all times. '_They are there for your safety, they are not servants,' _he had been told, upon attempting to order one of them to be his sparring partner.

Damian had decided this was simply the House of al Ghul's very own Bastille.

But the good thing about giving a puzzle a name was that it led a clearer past to the solution. Call something a house and you know that there's an exit through a door; call it a prison, and you know you have to find a key.

Permission from Ra's to leave would have been useful, though it had been unexpected as well as unneeded. Adrenaline still pumping through Damian's body from the encounter with his grandfather, he slowly peeled himself off the door and looked down into his hand. An old, ornate key rested in his palm. It had likely once been gold-plated, though most of it had worn off by now. It was little more than a trinket now that most of the Tower's locks had been updated, mostly thanks to his Mother. But it paid to befriend the eyes and the ears of your home. This particular tip had come from the Cook, weeks before that _broadcast _had even aired. A skeleton key that was still able to open the older, forgotten passages.

Making his way over to the wardrobe along the far wall, Damian kneeled beside it and wedged his fingers behind some of the ornate paneling along the bottom. Pulling gently, he popped it free and revealed a dusty space about four inches tall between the floor and the first drawer. It was a fairly obvious hiding spot, but had so far gone undetected. He nudged aside a small box of pilfered and discarded keys; all useless. The one in his fist _had_ to be the one. There was no time to search for more. Grayson had made sure of that.

_Grayson._ Damian felt a shiver roll up his spine, and wrote it off as a byproduct of kneeling on the stone floor.

"Idiot." Because of him, Damian's escape plan had been put on the fast track: he was hardly as prepared as he would have liked. Leaning over to fit his thin arm in under the wardrobe he grabbed the edge of a sack and dragged it out. Laying the key on the ground, he began to remove items one by one to inventory his stock. Three knives, of various shapes and sharpness. One empty water bladder. Approximately 30 feet of rope, if it could be called that- he had scavenged it from a drapery in the dining commons. He wasn't sure he could trust it all that much.

And that was it. Everything contained in this bag, plus his Lazarus-skewed wits, was all he had to make it out. It would be the most pathetic utility belt in the history of Bats.

It would have to do.

Visions of the broadcast popped into his mind, once again unbidden. He immediately disregarded the information about the Justice League being 'dead.' Damian knew without a shadow of doubt that this had to be false. Judging by how they had treated Nightwing on-screen, if they'd had the bodies of the league they would have been put on full display and most likely desecrated. They'd tossed out little tokens to their all-star audience as if it was enough to pacify; a piece of Superman's cape, Aquaman's all-powerful Trident. It was a show.

It had been more difficult to ignore the bruises and wounds so clear on Nightwing as the Wonder Woman imposter manhandled his body, pulled the mask from his face, and exposed his identity to the entire world. Half-conscious as the man had been, Damian couldn't ever remember seeing him look so… defeated. As his civilian persona, as Nightwing, or during his stint as Batman.

Damian hadn't even heard what they had said after that. Luckily (or not) for him, the footage had been looped. When the ringing of his ears had finally dissipated, he memorized the threats to heart.

Ultraman had said, on live broadcast, that he would hunt down and destroy everything that Richard Grayson held dear. But as far as everyone knew, Robin had been dead for months. They'd never see him coming.

"Hang on, Grayson," Damian whispered, as he began to gather the meager tools back up. "I'm coming."

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**A/N: Next time on Raise Hell- Damian makes it to Gotham! Or does he? Dun dun daa.**

**Let me know in the comments of any characters you would like to see make an appearance. If you're reading FE, anyone you wish was better represented for the rescue of Nightwing. There are some who I have already planned, but feel free to make suggestions. ;) **

**Thanks for reading. **


	2. Swordwalker

**2. Swordwalker**

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Damian had landed in Gotham only two hours ago and he had already made a new he crawled out of the small shipping container that served as his trojan horse into the city, Damian bumped into a very surprised goon. As a result he now had a pair of brass knuckles and a spare switchblade at his disposal; his new friend had several broken bones and a concussion.

The tools were acceptable, but Damian needed more if he had any hope of infiltrating the Syndicate. He needed to regroup. The first step in this plan was to head to one of Batman's numerous safe rooms scattered around the city. The closest was now only several blocks away.

Crouching in the darkness with his elbows on his knees, Damian glared down the street. It looked like there was some sort of curfew in effect, because the only people in sight were thugs with guns. Some shambled in what Damian assumed they _thought_ were patrols, others lit up cigarettes outside of what appeared to have once been a drugstore but now served something a little stronger than cough syrup and aspirin. Likely where the shipment he had rode in on was destined to end up.

If only he was here to simply break up an illegal drug ring. What he wouldn't give to bash a few more teeth in.

Damian ducked into an adjacent alleyway unseen, and began to scale a fire escape to get to the rooftops, where traveling would undoubtedly be a little less crowded. It would have been faster yet if he had a grappling gun, but hopefully one was waiting for him several rooftops away. This particular safe house was constructed on top of a Wayne Enterprises subsidiary that had been rebuilt several years prior. It was small, but it would do.

The rooftop was abandoned, as he had expected it to be. More importantly though, it looked undisturbed. The building itself looked like it had suffered some kind of attack, with many windows being blown out and re-boarded. If only whoever had done that knew that the building contained better treasures than dollar bills.

The entrance was hidden amongst some decorative architecture along the roof. Damian crouched and rotated a a stone rosebud out of the way to reveal the hidden entrance panel. Damian pressed his thumb against the scanner. The screen lit up a faint blue as a white line dropped down to scan his identity. Damian leaned back, preparing to head to the door that would be revealed, when the keypad beeped twice and lit up red. Access denied. Damian frowned. So, Bruce had locked him out. It wasn't surprising; he was supposedly dead, and who wouldn't chop the thumb off his corpse if they got the chance? Switching from the scanner to a keypad, the input his code directly only to experience the same results. Grinding his teeth together in annoyance, he activated the back door system.

"Override: Robin." He glanced over his shoulder as the machine considered his answer, eyes scanning the deserted rooftop. The lock made two quick beeps as the keypad flashed red and Damian returned his attention to it, grinding his teeth. Access denied. "Override: Wayne, Damian," he hissed a little more angrily. Again, the disapproving beeps and red lights. "Override: Wayne, Bruce."

That was a mistake. Damian heard a series of internal clicks followed by electrical micro explosions that rendered both keypad and the entryway itself useless. The safe rooms were impenetrable except through the main access, which was now sealed shut. A string of curses escaped Damian's mouth and he stood sharply.

The next closest safe room was clear across the city, and likely had the same protocols in place. For all Bruce knew there was an army of little _Ibn al Xu'ffasch's _being maintained by the al Ghul's. Heretic was couldn't have been the only other one. The situation rendered his thumbprint and even his voice patterns a liability.

Damnit.

There was always the 'backdoor' into the cave, through deep tunnels and waterfalls. But it was spring, so half the underground caverns would be full of ice cold water. The Lazarus pit hadn't exactly expanded his lung capacity.

There was another option, though. Nightwing's equipment room would be closer, though potentially far more dangerous, if it had been found. But before those consequences even rang alerts in his mind, he was already moving towards that address as if compelled by something else.

Damian got within a block of the location when something caught his eye. He found himself standing on the top of the building opposite Grayson's apartment. Or… what was left of it, anyway. There was a gaping hole in the front of the building, like a wound, and it opened right into the place Dick had once made his home. Vandals had spray-painted giant arrows leading to it, along with various phrases; the boldest reading:

NIGHTWING'S LAIR BIRDNEST. RICHARD GRAYSON LIVED HERE.

There were numerous other things that had been written by one person and covered up by the next; the city at large couldn't seem to decide if they liked one of their former heroes or not. Damian frowned, as he considered going inside. The equipment room was close, but then… maybe the apartment would give him some information, too. Damian climbed down the fire escape and crossed the street after checking both ways for any sort of activity, though this section of the city was surprisingly dead for what it contained.

The staircase was still intact enough to climb up. The door still on the hinges, though someone had pried off the number. Damian sighed. For a moment, he tried to imagine that everything outside was normal. He was just visiting. Dick would be inside and more than pleased to see him; he would try to offer a hug, but Damian would turn it down, off course. He was not a child.

Damian shook the thought from his head. He wasn't visiting a _memorial_ of any kind. Grayson was still out there, and Damian was here to help with that. Maybe he'd even allow the hug when they were reunited… or at the very least, a hair-ruffle.

Maybe.

Touching the door with only several outstretched fingers, it swung open with a creak. The apartment was a disaster. Bricks and drywall crumbled to the ground. A ceiling beam had fallen and punched a hole in the floor, that it now stuck out of like some sort of grave marker. Diagonal scorch marks seared the room and left behind a wake of black carbon.

The initial destruction of the apartment had been initiated by the Syndicate or their puppets; subsequent vandalism looked to be the work of the average citizens. Damian frowned as he looked around. Most of Grayson's personal possessions had been taken, the rest were strewn across the ground. The place was practically bare.

Poking his head into the bedroom, Damian clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he saw the dresser drawers pulled open with most of the clothes missing- down to the underwear. He could only imagine the future ebay listings. '!RICHARD 'DICK' GRAYSON AKA 'NIGHTWING' BOXERS 4 SALE HERE. 3-PACK: PLAIN (BLUE), SUPERMAN (AWWW), CLOVERS. SMELLS LIKE STRAWBERRIES AND SWEAT!'

_Ugh._

Damian picked his way over to the bed. A lamp was smashed on the floor, and the side of the nightstand was ripped off. He jimmied the top drawer open anyway, feeling along the top for the spare wing-ding he knew should have been kept there. His hand came back empty. There wasn't even a spare paper clip.

He moved to the closet to search for the hidden escrima sticks, but had the same results. Stolen. By the way the panels in the back of the closet had been ripped off, no doubt whoever had taken them had searched also for any other hidden goodies that were a physical link between Richard Grayson and his alter ego.

As he exited the closet, he heard a faint shuffling coming from the other room and froze. The apartment was silent again for only a moment, when there was the clear thump of someone dropping in through a (presumably broken) window. Their feet crunched glass on the floor.

"_This _is Nightwing's flat? What a dump." The voice wafted in from the kitchen, followed by the sound of feet scuffing dirty linoleum.

"I doubt it looked like this a couple months ago, genius."

Damian scowled as he listened to the two root around, remaining where he was. His hand dipped towards his belt and he pulled out the switchblade he had 'borrowed' earlier. He was wearing simply a shinobi shozoku, the common black ninja uniform that the al Ghuls regularly provided. It was sufficient, but he was starting to miss the padded and protective hug of his old uniform.

"Dude, look at this! How's that still here?" There was the sound of rustling near the broken television, but Damian couldn't see what the two had discovered.

"It's broken. What is it?"

"The newest Swordwalkers game! I have it at home. I would've thought he'd be busy, like, doing push ups or something. I can't believe he played that!"

"Doesn't look like he got the chance. It's still packaged up."

Damian had begun to cross the room in silence, but the name of the game the looter rattled off startled him. He remembered asking Grayson to order it while he checked up on his former mentor in the wake of the Joker's last game. It really hadn't been all that long later that… he'd gone away. One disaster after another; not even his own death could keep his life drama free.

"... Let's take the game and see what we can get for it. This place is too trashed, let's-"

"That does _not _belong to you." The man holding the game screamed as a knife slammed into his palm; the game clattered to the floor a moment later.

"What the fu-"

"_Get. Out."_

Damian watched from the darkened doorway of the bedroom as the two looters scrambled towards the exit. Thieves, not fighters. Damain ground his teeth together and listened to their footsteps echo down the staircase before he entered the room. He stopped beside the video game and squatted down, picking up the battered copy. He brushed off some of the dust and stood up, tucking it into his belt.

He cast one final look around and then left through the window.

It wasn't long later that Damian was squatting in front of the door to Nightwing's equipment chamber. He'd been here many times before, so it had been easy to find. It appeared like it had been undisturbed so far.

"I'm relying on your sentimentality for once, Grayson," Damian mumbled as he eyed the security panel with narrowed eyes, afraid of being locked out of this one the same way he had been barred from Batman's room. He didn't have the means at hand to hack in; though most of their systems were tamper proof anyway. Deciding to bite the bullet, Damian entered the latest code that Grayson had designated to him -which would now be many, many months old- and held his breath.

Three long seconds ticked by as the mechanism decided whither Damian's code was worthy or not.

There was no flashy light this time to alert him either way; just a faint click inside what appeared on the outside to be a simple maintenance door. Damian let out the breath he had been holding and stood, quickly entering. Inside was not some dingy room as the door outside suggested, but a high-tech room containing seemingly endless goodies. There was a workbench in the far corner with a monitor above it; a broken wing-ding and several tools were scattered across it as if Nightwing were to return at any moment to finish his work.

Damian moved further in, and some fluorescent motion sensor lights switched on with a faint buzzing sound. It wasn't a very large space, but big enough, and Damian knew there was more than just a few of Nightwing's goodies lying around. Or at least, there had been. Grayson had kept a spare uniform for him here, too, as well as a few other limited supplies.

The boy was kneeling beside a drawer with a small pile of equipment beside him when static broke into the room, followed by a voice.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up."

Damian jumped into a defensive pose to look around, but the space was just as empty as it had been moments ago.

"The monitor, numbnuts." Turning to the screen hanging above a work desk, Damian found himself staring at Jason Todd. He had his domino mask on, but there were small tears in it coinciding with several cuts on his face. He looked ragged in general, though that wasn't entirely unnatural.

"Todd," Damian greeted after a long silence, crossing his arms over his chest. His head tilted back slightly as he regarded the man. "Where are you? How were you made aware of my presence?"

"I've got my own safe houses, you know. And I rigged it to alert me if someone entered goldenboy's pad." Damian raised a brow. "_Okay,_ Replacement did before he vanished." Damian snorted at this and snagged a rolling chair with his ankle, pulling it over to plop down into.

"Why has it been kept at all? The whole city is likely looking for this place," Damian said, casting his eyes around the room. "I saw what they did to his apartment."

"Thought about it. But it's a strategic location, and we can blow it up if we don't like who's inside. So try not to piss me off," Jason replied, a grin stretching across his lips. Damian sneered and glanced over at him, pleased to see one of the older man's front teeth were chipped. He hoped that the process had hurt. "And the apartment… yeah. First thing we cleaned it out. There was a photo of you and Dick at a fair. You definitely looked like you had a beard made out of pink cotton candy. It was _adorable._"

"I am not against returning you to the grave, Todd." Damian was surprised that Jason had taken the initiative, though who knew whose idea it had been originally. There had likely been things in Dick's apartment connecting many, many people into his life. Regardless, it wouldn't take a supersleuth to tie him back to the Wayne family. Todd had likely given them some time, at least.

"Hardly out of one yourself and already hurling death threats. Sounds like you got out of there pretty intact. So was your body still warm when they dropped you into the pit, or..?"

"_Tt. _I'm fairing better than I'm certain _you_ did."

"Right. I'm sure," Jason drawled, and Damian could practically feel the eyes boring into him. He was tempted to cover the webcam. A silence stretched between them then, the room quiet except for the slight hum of the computer system. "For what it's worth… he grieved, you know. Went through a lot of ways to try and bring you back. Tim mentioned something about Frankenstein, but I'm not entirely sure he wasn't on drugs at the time."

"The Monster?"

"Huh? Yes-"

"No, Frankenstein was the last name of the Doctor. Common misconception for those that do not _read_," Damian corrected.

"Whatever. Not the point. He was pretty batshit. Asked _me _about the pit, the asshole. I heard you had a nice funeral, though. I don't know, I wasn't invited. But as far as the world at large is concerned, Damian Wayne is off in Europe getting culture or some shit."

"What?" Damian asked; this having gotten his attention. He sat up a little in his chair, frowning.

"Yeah. Couldn't have Robin _and_ the billionaire's son die in the same week, after all," Jason deadpanned. "As if we aren't all fucked now anyway thanks to the original birdbrain."

"It wasn't his fault," Damian snapped, sitting forward to glare at the monitor.

"So that's why you finally came back. Thought as much."

"Well, clearly I _had_ to. If I had been here to start with he would be freed by now and this mess would be over."

"You think it's so easy, huh? You think we haven't tried? Have fun eating worms again. There's a lot more going on right now than you even realize-"

"I don't _care, _Todd! I don't have time for this argument. Don't alert anyone that I have returned, I prefer to use it to my advantage." Leaning forward, Damian promptly ended the stream and cut off whatever snarky remark Todd's face had twisted to produce. The silence following was loud; or maybe his ears were just ringing. Damian stood, pacing across the room.

Maybe he'd been hasty in hanging up on Todd. They probably had far more information on the situation at hand than he did. But with Nightwing's computers at hand now, it wouldn't be too hard to figure out.

"I don't need any help," Damian told himself aloud, but a moment later he turned and sent a savage kick at the workbench. There was small metallic _clang_ as something rolled off under the force, and Damian cocked his head to the side to look at it.

Maybe he wasn't ready to break into the Crime Syndicate's lair and drag Nightwing to his freedom. But there _was_ something else he could do to keep the city's greasy fingers out of his life.

* * *

"Think it was the Demon Spawn?"

"He always did have a penchant for dramatics, even if he denies it," Jason told his companion as he looked across the street at the burning building. Flames in particular were curling out of the wide, wound-like hole in the side of it, causing graffiti to bubble and peel away.

"I guess we won't be getting another tooth brush out of there to sell online."

"Shut up. The brat would kill you if you heard you say that," Jason snickered, backhanding the other in the chest as he stepped away from the ledge. "Hopefully he's back at Nightwing's safe room though, where he can't have heard you."

"Think he actually is?"

"Hopefully."

"Do you even know how you're going to tell him, Jay?"

Silence at first, then a sigh. "I haven't the faintest idea."

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**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows thus far. :)**


	3. Welcome to Bartertown

**3. Welcome to Bartertown**

"You're gonna need my help to find the twerp, Jaybird."

"No, I won't. It'll be easier for me to travel alone anyway," Jason said, brushing his hand over the top of his helmet, which he had set down at the work station. They were back in Nightwing's safe house now, which was empty though there were signs of the youngest Wayne having been there recently.

"I want to help, Jason. You're not the only person who was close with Dick."

Jason glanced over at him with a frown as he turned the computer on. Heroes like Roy had bull's eyes painted on their chests. Jason was sure that one had been placed on his back, too, but it wasn't quite as fluorescent for him. There were still criminal circles he could blend into easily if he had to. Hardly anyone was aware that his alignment had taken on a slightly lighter shade of gray in recent months. He supposed working out of the country had its benefits.

"_Close_," Jason snickered. "The closest I've been to him recently was when Joker was thinking about trying all our faces on for size."* Those who had been taken in by Bruce could grow as distant as they wanted; because there was always a villain out there who seemed to want to take them out as one neat and tidy package.

Right now, though, that family was awfully small. Bruce was 'dead.' Tim was missing, along with the rest of his entirely new team, after they had taken a full-frontal approach with the Crime Syndicate. (No one had made the same mistake since.) Babs was still around, and now Damian. Maybe they weren't too bad off, after all. They weren't alone, either.

"You know what I mean, Jason," Roy said, interrupting Jason's coagulated thoughts. "I want to-"

"I know. And you will. We're going to need backup, Roy," Jason said, looking his friend in the eye. "We're going to need your old team."

* * *

After retiring from the Titans, Wally West had gone on to college so that was the first place Roy decided to check. About six hours out from Gotham, Roy headed to MIT by car. A plane would have been nice, but they weren't exactly at ready disposal, and Roy had never been trusted with the yoke to begin with.

It made for a long drive.

The roadways were still open, though they were frighteningly deserted. The Crime Syndicate had announced that business should go on as usual, and Roy imagined some parts of the country were. The east coast, on the other hand, seemed largely shut down. Afraid for their lives, citizens didn't go to work. And where their businesses stood empty, criminals took up the slots like weeds.

Adjusting his baseball cap, Roy slowed the vehicle down. He was on the highway and approaching what had been a toll at one point. It now looked more like a blockade. Roy frowned. This was not a situation he wanted to go into. If the odds were in his favor, it was just the police. But usually the odds were not, so Roy brought the car to a crawl before turning it around. He was still too far away to draw much attention, so he found the nearest off-ramp and took it.

Navigating Boston was convoluted, but Roy found the college just as the sun setting. His shadow was cast long in front of him, seeming to emphasize the emptiness of the campus. It looked like many of the students had taken off; the whole place resembled a ghost town.

Removing a piece of folded paper from his pocket, Roy glanced at the directions that had been scribbled down, via Barbara. It was a dorm name and room number, as well as his last known phone number. It was to be used only in a last ditch effort. Barbara had confirmed that Grid had become the latest version of the NSA and was monitoring calls. With the Justice League's satellites still in orbit but only being used against them, Oracle had grounded all communication on systems not 100% in their control already.

Roy found the building without much issue. Hoisting his backpack (which contained most of the tools of his trade without making him look suspicious), Roy hiked up to the fifth floor and stopped in front of room 513. He knocked several times, but when there was no answer he tried the handle. Locked, of course. Sliding a lockpick from his pocket he set to work.

"What are you doing?"

Roy straightened quickly and looked to the left, to find a girl standing several paces away. He slid the pick up his sleeve to hide it and turned towards her.

"I'm- uh. Looking for a friend. Wally West?"

"He's not in there," the girl said, adjusting her hold on the stack of books she had. Roy had the distinct impression that she had collected them from a library without checking them out, as she shuffled them around and tried to hide them under her coat. If only the world's worst criminals were book thieves.

"Do you know where he is?" Roy asked, hoping the answer wasn't a solid no.

"Probably in the labs," She replied instead, and Roy looked relieved.

"Thanks." He turned away to head down the hall, but paused after a few steps and turned back around. The girl looked at him with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

"Top floors of Building 37 over on Vassar."

Roy gave a tight smile and offered her a nod, before heading off. He paused in the vestibule to grab a map of the campus; this would have gone so much faster if Wally was the one looking for him, not vice versa.

When Roy found the labs, they largely appeared dark from the outside. He slipped inside to complete silence, and took the stairs up. Each floor was as deserted as the next, and Roy was beginning to think that the girl had sent him on a wild goose chase when he saw the first sign of life.

A small trashcan was overflowing with candy wrappers outside of a doorway. Peering into the rectangular window in the door, Roy saw a figure hunched over a desk that was also the only light source in the room. It looked like a tornado had gone through- papers, graphs, and diagrams plastering the room.

"Wally?" Roy said, upon entering the room. The man remained stooped over the table, his hands occasionally flying towards an open book or binder with blinding speed. Roy moved closer.

"_Wally._ WALLY. Wow, man, gotta work on that spatial awareness thing."

The hunched man jumped and turned around, looking shocked.

"Roy?Wha_tareyoudoinghere_howlonghave-" Roy held up his hands, and Wally innately slowed his speech. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. What are _you_ doing?" He asked, walking over to the table. Papers were scattered everywhere, and all of them were covered in both mathematical and scientific equations that Roy had no business even trying to decipher.

"What's it look like?" Wally asked, waving his hand with such a flourish that several papers shifted as if a window was open.

"...Something important?" Roy ventured, raising a brow. Wally grunted and turned back around, picking up his pencil. Roy moved to the side to get a better look at the spread without getting in the way of his former teammate.

"I came here looking for you. We need your help, Wally," he finally said, when Wally seemed unforthcoming about his project.

"Dick," Wally said, without looking up, though his furious pen scribbles paused. "I know. I saw it. Everybody saw it," he said, reaching over for a book and dragging it closer to him. Roy waited for him to expand, but the speedster seemed to become consumed once more in his work.

"Dude."

"I'm _workingonit_, Roy," Wally snapped, lifting his face. It had been a long time since Roy had seen him, but he looked years older. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes. The green irises stood out sharply.

"When's the last time you had something to eat?" Roy asked, and Wally waved an impatient hand towards the corner of the room. Glancing over, Roy spotted what looked like an entire vending machine's worth of wrappers. Knowing the speedster, though, he could have gone through that in a matter of minutes. It was far from the healthy fuel he was required to burn in order to keep functioning properly.

"So… what is this all, exactly?"

Wally's shoulders tensed like he was going to snap again, but instead he let out a sigh and slumped downward.

"I'm trying to find the Justice League," he said, resting his elbows on the table and lifting his head to look at Roy. The archer looked surprised, and Wally cut him off before he could even ask. "I know what the Syndicate said, but I don't believe they're dead. I got a strange transmission from Barry not long before everything happened. It was garbled, I thought it was just a butt-dial. Belt-dial. Ear-dial- _whatever_. I ignored it until… well." Wally waved his hand noncommittally, and Roy knew what he was talking about. Until the Crime Syndicate had declared them all dead.

Wally sat down, reaching up to rub his hands through his hair. It stuck out in odd directions, greasy. Reaching forward he removed a piece of paper that had fluttered over a device on the table, and indicated to it. It was his old communicator, dismantled and hooked up to several other devices.

"Well that explains why we couldn't reach you via com-link," Roy said, taking a seat on a stool opposite Wally and looking at his former teammate. "If it makes you feel any better the batkids don't think they're dead either. Oracle might be working on something to find them herself. It might do you good to knock heads with her."

"Who else do you have?" Wally asked, ignoring the comment. He seemed attached to his current labspace.

"Oracle, obviously. And Jason."

"Todd?" Wally scoffed. "He's actually helping you?"

"He's not a bad guy, Wally. I've been working with him a lot lately."

"He's an asshole."

"Dick's his brother."

That shut the speedster up. Wally's gaze dropped back down to the numbers, roaming over them as if looking for faults. He kept his focus low as he spoke again.

"What about Starfire? Isn't she on your little squad now, too?"

"She's off-world," Roy sighed. Maybe it was better for her. She'd have likely tried to punch through the walls to reach Dick by now, only to be stopped by something or other.

"Red-Robin? The rest of the…" Wally trailed off as Roy shook his head.

"They attacked directly, not long after the announcement. No one has heard from them since," Roy said, his voice dropping.

Wally stared at him for a moment. "Are they…?"

"No. Barbara said that there was a fluctuation in the… I don't know, space-time continuum or something. Like when Bart first came through. She said you'd probably understand that."

"The Speed Force," Wally said, frowning, before he shook his head. Excellent. Another thing to look into. He returned his troubled gaze to Roy. "Is there _anybody?"_

Roy looked at him, and considered mentioning Damian. He started to open his mouth when he decided against it. The only reason he knew the little demon was back was because he hadn't been standing all that far away from Jason when the motion sensors in Nightwing's pad had lit up. The fewer who knew, it had been decided, the better.

"Pretty much everybody we've been in touch with is busy trying to defend their cities. Jay and Barb have been trying to keep Gotham afloat, but… well. It's not looking too hot, but don't tell them that. They're trying to balance a rescue plan along with keeping the city alive."

"I guess Dick wouldn't let us live it down if we let his favorite city go to shit just for him," Wally said, a hint of sour sarcasm in his voice. He sat back on the stool and spun it 180 degrees as he got up to head across the room.

"Us? So you're in?" Roy asked, standing up. Wally made no reply as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a bag of Doritos.

Roy waited for an answer, but all he heard was the crunching of corn echoing around the otherwise quiet room. He frowned. Roy knew that Dick and Wally had experienced some sort of falling out just after the Titans dissolved and everyone went their own way, though he would have thought they had made up by now.

Even if they hadn't, did it really matter?

"You've seen what we're up against. Not just the average everyday villain we get to deal with, but Evil Superman, Evil Batman, Evil Flash- Wally, we need your help," Roy said. "You know how bat-prodigies like to pretend they don't need any, but this was _their_ idea. If that's not telling enough, then- no, you know what? I don't even know why I have to explain this to you. Your best friend is being held by a bunch of twisted fucks who would sooner toss him out to the dogs than to-"

"You don't think I know that?" Wally snapped. Roy abruptly started to walk towards him as the speedster began to rant. "Do you even know if he's alive? Doyouevenknowhereheis? Doyou even have a plantostoptheSyndicate?"

"When has that stopped us before? This is Dick we're talking about here," Roy said, stopping a pace away from Wally. He could see the speedster's face now, though nearly regretted it. Wally looked completely torn. Green eyes were pained; his fist had crushed his snack-pack sized bag of doritos into dust.

"We're gonna need the League to stop them, Roy," Wally sighed, leaning back against the counter. He looked down at his bag of chips forlorn, and tossed them onto the counter as he reached up to rub his temples. "It's the only way I can think to help."

There was silence as the two former teammates considered each other, then a shuffling as Roy reached into his backpack. He held a communicator out to Wally, who took it and turned it over in his palm. He smoothed his thumb over the symbol carved into the surface.

"Bat-tech?" He asked, and Roy nodded.

"Grid can't track it. We're not using cells for a reason," he said. Wally nodded again, and slid it into his pocket.

"Where are you going now?"

"Anywhere I think I can find some backup," Roy said. He paused a moment, looking at Wally. "When the time comes…. will you come if we call?" He asked, meeting Wally's eyes. The speedster returned his gaze, and this time Roy saw the fire he was accustomed to.

"In a heartbeat. And I'll try to bring the cavalry with me."

* * *

"He's not here either," Jason grumbled into his com link. He kicked at a pile of trash, riffling through it with his foot. Stooping down, he picked up a tiny black chip that had clearly been torn free from a costume. It was one and a half days since they had last seen Damian on the live feed. "This is pointless. The little idiot is smart enough to have ditched the tracers, he's just going to send us on a wild goose chase through the city."

"_Try to contain your excitement over the fact that Damian is, in fact, alive,_" Barbara's voice crackled over the link.

"Yeah, for now. Idiot's gonna go get himself killed." Jason rolled his eyes, his shoulders hunching forward. It had startled to drizzle, because what else could make this day even better?

"_He downloaded all the info we had on the case_," Barbara said. Her voice was diplomatic. It sounded that way whenever she was referring to Dick's 'case.' It was very Batman, Jason thought, and very annoying. "_He's going to try and get in himself."_

"So, let him. We've got enough to deal with out here," Jason said, irritable.

"_Jason_." God, she sounded so condescending even over a voice-link.

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. Call me if you find anything. I'll do some scouting. Hood out," Jason said, reaching up to turn the link off before Barbara could berate him.

Jason had a few ideas of his own where Damian might be going. Out of all the members of their sad, extended little family, they thought the most alike. And now they had one giant green puddle in common, too.

Jason wasn't too thrilled.

Damian had been pig-headed beforehand. He'd already been a killer, an assassin. It had taken a long time to coax anything good out of him, and now? There was a good chance that it had all been wiped away.

_Then why is he back?_ Could it really be because of the predicament Golden-boy had gotten himself into? Jason tried (poorly) to withhold judgment as he traversed the city on foot and avoided drawing attention to himself.

He ended up down by the docks, overlooking the bay where several miles away the Watchtower had crashed. Murphy's law was _the_ law in Gotham, so of of course it had fallen here, instead of some place wild and abandoned.

A good portion of this part of the city was flooded, thanks to the stunt that Ultraman had pulled with the moon. Where rooftops were usually the playground of the vigilantes and their antagonists, they were now like little island hubs of activities. Namely, an illicit marketplace. Planks had been passed through windows and over rooftops to form makeshift pathways.

Jason passed under a sign dubbing the place 'Bartertown.'

You had to hand it to the underbelly of the city; like cockroaches they emerged from the cracks to take advantage of the worst situations. They certainly were quicker than the Government was in setting up things. FEMA trucks had yet to even arrive. Jason could only wonder what kind of truce the United States congress had made with the Syndicate.

Wearing his civvies (jeans, leather jacket, and a hat), Jason's gruff exterior blended in flawlessly. He'd been here on several occasions already as it was. Anything could be found if you knew where to look. Weapons, booze, girls. Information.

"Heya Peter. What kind of day is it, whiskey or hooch?" A man asked as Jason took a seat at the end of a bar. It was made up of several doors; the benches were crates turned on their end.

"Both," Jason muttered, leaning one elbow against the edge of the table. "Got any of that White Lightin' left?"

"Fresh out, sorry. I'll get you the cleanest we got, though," The man replied, and Jason nodded. He was slid a glass of clear liquid in a less-than-clear glass moments later, and Jason handed over a few bills. He swirled the moonshine around in the glass for a moment, looking down at it. What he wouldn't give to slop it all down. He raised it to the bartender in thanks before bringing it to his lips, though he ingested only enough to get a taste.

He was here on business. Damnit, Damian was going to owe him one when this was over.

"How's business?"

"We had a few more 'visitors' than I would enjoy. Big boss types trying to lay a tax down on us," the bartender, who Jason knew only as Kenny, said. "But we take care of our own here. McCaul got shot in the leg."

"Fuck, man," Jason said, faking empathy as Kenny nodded solemnly. "Anything else exciting going down?" As one of the first stops at the entry into Bartertown, Kenny saw a good portion of those who passed through.

"Some Rev started up a chapel over on top of Firehouse 32, it got surprisin'ly busy," Kenny chuckled.

"Right next to the Brothel. Prime location," Jason chuckled as he again lifted the dirty cup to his lips.

Jason continued to prompt the barkeep about the goings on in the shantytown, listening to far more stories than he was interested in. He was about to give up and toss the excess moonshine over the edge of the building when Kenny said something of note.

"...Redhorn was in here earlier. Said some kid was over in his shop, trying to buy a gun."

"A gun, really," Jason said, sitting up slightly. Could it be Damian? It wasn't rare to see kids younger than they should be in this place, so all bets were off. Jason tried to think if the demon-spawn had ever used one before. Maybe the Pit had deminished Bruce's plague against them in his mind. Jason's hand slid impulsively towards his own, where it was strapped toward to his hip.

"Yeah," Kenny was saying. "Guess kids haveta protect themselves these days, too."

"Did he let him buy it?"

"Pff, no. Probably woulda, had the kid enough money. Get this, though. He had one of them sticks- num-chucks or somethin?- with the Nightwing symbol on them. Redhorn suggested a trade. Woulda given him several pistols for it. Kid got real mad and almost broke Redhorn's nose."

_Damian._ There was no doubt about it, now. What was he thinking? So much for laying low. Jason tried not to let his scowl show as Kenny moved onto a new story. At least no one was smart enough to link a short black-haired kid carrying Nightwing gear around to his former alias.

"... Speakin' of, anyway, you want in on this week's vote?" Kenny asked, indicating to a chalkboard behind him. The Crime Syndicate was a popular discussion at Bartertown, understandably. As was Nightwing and Dick Grayson, since a good majority of people who ran the shops here had good reason to hate him. The tally on the board was a good count of how many there were. There were bets not only when he would die, but how he would go, too. Jason's eyes lingered over the marks.

"Not today, Kenny," he said, and took a deep swig from his glass. The barkeep shrugged and turned away to tend to another customer, and Jason tossed the rest of the drink away before he stood. He left a few bucks on the counter as a tip (Kenny waved his appreciation) and headed away.

He had an angry kid to find.

* * *

**A/N: Anyone else mad that they pushed the final FE-related issues back to MAY? Originally it was meant to come out this week. Have a fanchapter instead. :P I hope you enjoyed. We'll get back to Damian next chapter. **

**Thanks for reviews and favs! **

Notes:

*Jason was referring to events that took place in the Death of the Family arc in New52


	4. Eye in the Sky

**4. Eye in the Sky**

* * *

Once Jason knew that Damian had a) been in the area and b) pissed someone off, tracking him down wasn't all that difficult. It was where he was tracking him to that was worrying. Letting out a string of curses that would make a even a 16th century pirate revolted, Jason plucked duel semi-automatic pistols from his belt and removed the safety.

There was a buzzing in Jason's ear. Reaching up, he flicked the com on. "I'm already on it," he grunted, before Oracle could say a thing.

A moment later he hit the ground running.

* * *

Too short to hold a knife to somebody's throat, Damian had an alternative. The knife was already pressed into the crook of the man's thigh, his hands tied behind his back with an extra length looped around his neck. One sharp press of the blade and it would slice the femoral artery; in the opposite, and it could elicit some slightly less deadly but just as damaging wounds to the man's prized gems.

He walked the man guard quietly into a room lit only by a naked bulb hanging over a makeshift poker table. Several lit cigarettes were the only other source of light. Damian pressed the knife a little deeper to get the man to let out a hiss of pain. It was enough to get the attention of the men at the table, who all looked up with matching expressions. Surprise, turning to confusion and finally bemusement.

"What the hell is this?"

"I demand to speak with your leader," Damian said.

The group of men looked between each other, and a few of them laughed despite their companion's predicament. Damian growled, and applied pressure to the knife until blood leaked through the fabric of the man's trousers.

"I was decent enough to not kill your comrade yet, but perhaps I-"

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down there half-pint," One of the men finally said, holding out his hand. He set down his cards and pulled himself to his feet. Damian scowled behind black balaclava mask he wore. "What's your business here?"

"I am here on the behalf of the house al Ghul. His presence has been requested by your associates and I am here to arrange the terms," Damian said, coolly. It wasn't a complete lie. Before leaving, he had heard inklings of the Crime Syndicate trying to get R'as on their side. He had dispatched them, of course, but a ploy was a ploy.

Looks of skepticism were heavy on their faces. Damian drilled the knife into the man's thigh until a thick stream of blood began to roll down his leg.

"Do it! Get him," his captive exclaimed, and instantly several men were on their feet. They conferred with each other, and one slid off into the back office.

It was in the silence that followed that Damian became aware that someone else had entered the room. He could feel the eyes upon him, staring. Looking only with his eyes, Damian a figure that stood like a sentinel in the corner.

"You have a Talon?" Damian scoffed. Talon cocked his head slightly to the side.

"_The_ Talon," A gruff voice in the back corrected. Damian's attention flickered towards the man who spoke. He looked unimpressed, and judging by his cliché pin-striped suit Damian could only assume he was the Boss.

"You brought me out for this?" Boss asked, raising his hand and bringing a pistol with it. Before Damian had a chance to say anything, a shot rang out. The man in Damian's grasp crumpled with a hole in the center of his forehead. "He shouldn't have been captured by an eight year old," the man explained, leveling the pistol on Damian.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose.

Another shot rang out, but this time the Boss was the one dropping with a bullet to his shoulder. Suddenly three people were rushing at him; Damian jumped out of the way of the first and sent his knife after the second, but a pair of bronze arms encapsulated him and he was falling towards the ground.

The last thing that Damian saw before the world went dark was the face of an owl.

* * *

It was several hours later when Damian awoke.

Jason glanced up from where he was sitting at a cold metal desk, but made no move to stand in the rather cramped safe house.

"Todd?"

He sounded drowsy. Jason merely grunted in reply, having hoped for a few more hours of peace.

"Where are we? What am I doing here?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Jason said, finally turning to look towards the boy and hitting the screen to turn it off. He crossed his arms over his chest as Damian swung his legs off the cot (_his_ cot).

"I was taking action where you have failed," the boy snapped.

"Oh yeah? Looks like you were pretty successful. Bigbird's sitting in the other room having a cup of tea and biscuits," Jason said, jerking his thumb to the side. Damian looked taken aback for a moment, before a scowl settled on his features as he stood up. For a moment Jason felt like he was looking at a young Bruce Wayne.

"If I had been here, all of this-"

"Yeah, well. You weren't. You were dead, kid," Jason said, and was satisfied by the clamped look that took Damian's face. "You should probably let that sink in for a little while, _before_ you go on a killing spree."

"I likely would have gone on a killing spree, Lazarus Pit or not," Damian said, his nose tilting upward. Jason snorted as he stood up.

"I'll give you that," he said, before abruptly launching himself forward. He grabbed Damian by the shoulder and twisted him around, pinning him against the wall with one arm twisted awkwardly behind his back. "But Pre-Pit Replacement wouldn't have let me do that," Jason said. He got an annoyed growl in response. He loosened his grip and Damian wormed away; Jason jumping back himself to prevent any sort of backlash.

"Sure you're not a clone? That's right up in your family tree," Jason said. Damian's eyes narrowed.

"If that were the case, you would be dead by now, Todd." Damian was rubbing the wrist that Jason had caught, looking deeply offended. Jason was a little surprised the kid hadn't launched himself into an attack yet.

"Touché. So, how long's it been then since your dip?"

Damian paused a moment, before shrugging his shoulder. "It is difficult for me to say. There was a long period of time where I had no frame of reference. How long has it been since I was impaled?"

"About a year. But your body only went missing awhile after," Jason said. "So at most you're six months old. Happy birthday."

"Hm. My original body's decomposition explains the lack of muscle memory and strength," Damian said, flexing his hand. Jason watched him curiously. The news didn't seem to bother the kid all that much, but with his family history it wasn't all that surprising.

"You knew you had a handicap and you still went down there tonight? Damian, you-"

It was the term that set the kid off, and Jason immediately flinched inwardly. Since when had he ever called demon-spawn that? Damian lept off his chair and immediately launched into a speech.

"I do not require your coddling, Todd. Don't make the mistake of thinking it was the same for me as it was for you. I died in battle. You were toyed with and then murdered. The state of mind upon death and entry into the pit matters greatly," he said, looking at Jason. "There's a good deal of literature on the matter. The Lazarus Pits have been around for centuries. Don't tell me you haven't read them?"

Jason merely looked at him.

"Of course not," Damian tittered. He waved his hand, pacing away.

"I'm sure the authors of those books were _completely sane,_" Jason said, eliciting a death glare from the child. That look alone was enough to convince him that the kid definitely was not a clone. "So my mind was pretty fucked up after- yes, I admit it, don't look so goddamn surprised- but your body isn't the same. _Yet_," Jason said, looping around to the conversation they'd been having before Damian went on the offensive. "You know that. It's why you went looking for a gun."

"Yes. And when I could not obtain one, I chose to rely upon my name. I have more skills than I do muscles in my body," he said, lifting his chin definitely. He certainly was the child of Talia and Batman, Jason thought.

"Well, it was a dumb move. _Don't- _I'll lay you out flat again," Jason threatened, as Damian jerked towards him upon the slight.

"We're wasting time," Damian snarled. "You've been wasting time all along!"

"Not this again. How many times do I have to tell you, we have been _working on it_. Don't exactly have the dream team here to help out."

"You can say that once more," Damian sneered. "And I read all your documents. Oracle was unsuccessful at hacking the Watchtower, which seems to have been your main plan. She has since given up, which I must say _did_ surprise me. I do not take her to be one who quits so easily."

"She didn't quit. We shifted focus," Jason said. He could feel a headache growing- was he really going to have to rationalize everything they had done?

"What?! You should-"

"-See, the thing about documents, is that we're kind of too busy doing _everything else_ to keep them updated. Shut up for a moment," Jason snapped quickly, to cut off whatever tangent the boy was about to go off on.

Jason pulled a video up on the screen, displaying the warehouse room that Damian had broken into earlier in the evening. _How are you going to tell him_? Roy had asked, as they watched Dick's apartment burn. _I don't know,_ Jason had said. Well, apparently he wasn't- Jason was going to _show _him.

"Where did you get that?" Damian asked, but Jason ignored him as he fast-forwarded until Damian was shown entering the room.

"You look about as threatening as a three year old at her ballet recital, by the way."

"_-tt-"_

Jason played it though without a word, and Damian focused mainly on his own performance. He watched with more curiosity as the Boss was shot, and saw that the shooter had been Jason from far back in the warehouse. Two goons and Talon lurched at him as the chaos rang out, and Damian watched himself fall unconscious under the hand of the Talon.

"Yes, he knocked me out," Damian grunted.

"Uh-huh," Jason said, as he leaned back in the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, swaying the chair back and forth slightly. "Just watch."

Things hadn't ended when Damian went down. Every other thug in the room had a gun and were shooting back at Jason, and at him. Talon was getting up, and caught a bullet in his shoulder. It rebounded off his armor but he jumped up as if angered and turned on the gun wielding man. Within moments the man who had shot him- and the only one still standing- was taken down with a flying kick.

Something stirred in Damian's stomach, and he leaned over onto the desk. Pushing Jason's hand out of the way, Damian paused the footage just as Jason was running onto the screen. He reversed the footage back and back and back, tracing Talon's movements through the room until he first appeared. He hit play, and this time focused on the dark corner from which the man had entered.

Talon entered the room with a smooth movement through a partially open door. He surveyed the room in an observational manor, but faltered suddenly when Damian spoke. The footage was silent, but Damian guessed it was around when he was introducing himself as the spokesperson for the al Ghuls. Talon froze his movements then and remained in that stance until the first time Damian had noticed him in the corner. He was moving forward by the time that Boss lifted his weapon; Talon probably would have reached him before Boss had the chance to shoot, if he hadn't been taken down.

Damian watched the rest of the scene play out, letting it roll until the scene cleared this time. After knocking the gun from the thug Talon didn't stop. He threw the man to the ground with enough force that Damian could practically hear the thud of his head hitting the floor, despite there being no sound. He grabbed the Boss, who was withering in pain, and the two made for the back of the room.

Jason was crouching over Damian by now, his own gun pointing towards Talon. If words passed between the two conscious men it wasn't clear on the footage. Talon and the Boss were gone; Jason threw Damian over his shoulder and left in the opposite direction.

The footage rolled on the still scene until Jason reached forward to pause it. His attention had been on the Boy Wonder the entire time, and he could practically see the gears turning in his head now.

"...Grayson?" Damian whispered. He sounded confused, and a moment later he was shaking his head and pacing away. One hand was curling onto his stomach as if he was ill. "They move similar, but it must be his Imposter."

"That's what we thought too, at first."

"At first?" Damian demanded, turning back. He looked pale and conflicted. "Why would Grayson be in that uniform and not _here_?" Had Richard Grayson been out gallivanting as some new twisted version of himself all along, while he had struggled to escape the Tower- had risked his life- to come back to Gotham to save him? His brow was carving itself a deep furrow, and suddenly a pair of strong hands enclosed on his shoulders. Damian hadn't even noticed Jason getting up and coming to him. The older man was pushing him down into a chair now, and taking one beside him.

"Why didn't you tell me that he was safe?" Damian asked, trying to spring back to his feet. He was pushed back down, and Damian snapped his gaze to Jason's face. It was the first time he had really looked at him. He hadn't been too keen to speak with him over the webcam, and had been too preoccupied to pay him any attention before now. Their faces were now level, and it was difficult to look anywhere else.

Todd looked…. tired. He looked old.

"It's complicated," Jason said. "The whole thing is a mess."

"Of course it's a mess. Grayson is out there running around with a bunch of _criminals_, free to-"

"He's not free. He's being coerced," Jason said, tightly. Damian narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest again; Jason could see that his hands were shaking. The kid wanted answers. "As far as we can tell, he's working with Owlman. We can't be certain, of course, but as far as we can tell he's a Wayne. He knows too much about Gotham not to be. He's got a twisted Alfie, even." Jason reached up, rubbing his head.

"You're holding back, Todd," Damian said crisply. "Tell me."

"Barbara doesn't think you're stable. She doesn't want to let you know," Jason replied, candidly. Before Damian could eat him alive, Jason held up a hand. He understood. "I know. You'll figure it out yourself if you are forced to."

Damian gave a crisp nod.

"...They took Alfie, Damian."

Damian could feel the blood that remained in his cheeks quickly vacating. He hadn't even thought to inquire about the Butler- who was so much more than a butler- at all. He felt the same wave of sickness he had felt upon learning that Grayson was being held by them.

"Owlman wanted Dick to work by his side, for whatever the hell reason. Dick obviously managed to convince him that he'd do it, because they left the HQ together. He tried to escape…" Jason faltered for a moment, shifting in his seat. Damian's eyebrow twitched; unable to recall a time when Todd had looked so physically uncomfortable. "...It didn't work. So they nabbed Alfie as a bargaining chip."

"...How do you know all this?" Damian asked. Jason's eyes flickered towards the monitor that he had turned off. Of course; Oracle had footage of everything. If Pennyworth had been in Wayne manner when he had been taken, it would definitely be on tape. He reached for the keypad, but Jason lurched out and grabbed his wrist.

"_No. _No. Not those ones," he said, his green eyes flashing.

After pausing a moment, Damian relented. His stomach felt like it would soon sink through the floor.

"...Are they physically well?"

"They're alive, aren't they?" Jason replied cryptically. "That much is obvious. Dickiebird wouldn't still be working with them if Alfie wasn't okay, and you saw him moving," Jason said, waving at the screen.

Damian grunted, but was unsatisfied. He crossed his arms over his chest and was quiet for a long time. Things were indeed more complicated than he had thought them to be initially. Not only was Grayson's life at stake, but Alfred's, too. While the man was more than capable, his body was nowhere near as strong as Richard's. If they were mistreating him….

"So. What are we going to do?"

"Oh, so you feel like playing on a team then?" Jason asked.

"You should have informed me of all of this upon my arrival," Damian said, lifting his chin.

"You didn't exactly give me a chance. Also, you're welcome for saving your ass."

"Pff. Grayson would not have let harm befall me," Damian replied.

"You're right. And let's hope that didn't do him more harm than good," Jason snapped. "Oracle's not the only one with eyes in the sky. You'll bet Grid's seen anything we've seen." Damian looked stricken, and for a moment Jason felt bad. But only for a moment; Damian had been reckless. It was good that he was seeing that. "If you want to work together, you're gonna have to listen to me."

"And you will have to tell me the truth," Damian countered, leaning forward. Jason considered this for a moment.

"Deal."

"Good. So let's get started. We have family to save, Todd."

* * *

**A/N: Um, yay brotherly bonding?**** Again, thanks for reading, reviews, and fav's. I enjoy reading your notes. Hope you liked the chapter, please pardon any typos.  
**

**Is anyone interested in seeing things from Dick/Alfred's POV, or should I continue mainly following Damian and Jason?**

**-Silico**


	5. One for One

**5. One for One**

"Part of the deal was that you tell me the truth," Damian said, scowling heavily at Jason as they sat for lunch. They were both in sparring outfits; Jason had decided it best to figure out just how far Damian's skills had diminished. Damian had been disgusted with his own performance, feeling slow and sluggish in moves that previously had been second nature. He hadn't admitted it, but he was glad for their break.

"I don't know how many different ways I can say 'they waltzed in and took Alfred' before I feel like punching you," Jason said, glancing down into his MRE and shaking it a little before taking a bite. He seemed largely unaffected by the mysterious flavoring, though Damian's stomach still did flip flops when trying to consume it. The package said 'chili with beans' but he wouldn't be surprised if it was really packaged wookie meat.

"Eat it. You need the calories," Jason said off hand, as Damian set his down and pushed it away.

"Don't change the subject. I want to know how they were able to get Pennyworth. Why was he not in a safe place?"

"He wanted to stay, and keep a watch on the Manor, and the cave. It was the most likely location that an alarm would be sent to by Bruce." He was twirling his would-be spaghetti on his utility fork, and Damian thought the tomato sauce looked like congealing blood.

"He's an old man, you could have removed him," Damian scoffed. Jason gave a bark of laughter, sending bits of red shooting towards him. Damian reeled back, revolted, and reached up to wipe some off his face.

"I wish to return to the cave," he glared. "I have more supplies there, I doubt Father would have discarded my belongings." Bruce Wayne was a sentimental old coot, as hard and gruff as he was. He'd kept Todd's uniform on display for a good long while, Damian knew, and wondered what his father had erected for him. Only for a moment did he imagine it, because soon enough pangs of remorse gripped him. It was a feeling that made him uncomfortable, so he shifted on the floor and pressed on. "It would certainly be better accommodations than _this_."

"Can't," Jason said, sobering this time. He set down his bag of luke-warm noodles and reached for a power bar. Maybe he couldn't stand the taste, after all. "Alfred executed Order 77-X on his way out."

Damian stared at him.

Order 77-X was a maneuver of last resort, that could only be executed by very few. Even Damian had never known the code, and he was certain that Todd hadn't.

Order 77-X would level the cave. Explosions would render every exit rubble, would rupture the platforms they kept their gear on. It would fry the computers and sever all possible communications. The cave would effectively become a tomb for everything that helped to make Batman possible.

"It was better than letting Owlman get his grubby little mitts all over everything. He knew how to access it, it must've been the same back on his world," Jason was saying, but Damian still felt like he was reeling at the news. Jason studied him carefully, his eyes narrowed. "You'd think I just said that Alfie blew himself up."

Damian blinked. "Owlman must have been livid," he said. Jason shrugged and looked away, tossing a power bar towards Damian. He stood up, his own bar hanging out of the corner of his mouth like a strange rectangular cigar.

It was Damian's turn to narrow his eyes. He couldn't help but feel that despite their pact, Jason was keeping details from him. _So be it_. If Jason was only going to partially keep his end of the deal, he could pull the same thing.

But first, important things.

"Where is Titus?"

"Staying with Barbara. Now get up, we have some more training to do."

* * *

They were disturbed several hours later by a call coming through on Jason's comm, that had them both heading back inside. Damian was quietly pleased about the distraction; his body was beginning to ache and he was more than irritated at Jason's 'training' methods.

"What?" Jason asked, as he turned on the monitor and Barbara came into view on the screen.

"_Owlman sighting down on Tynant, at the Century building," _Barbara said, her brows creased in heavy concentration and her own screen reflecting off her glasses. Her video feed minimized into the corner as she brought several other screens up onto the shared monitor.

"Any sign of-"

"_No. He appeared alone."_

Damian and Jason watched the replayed footage of Owlman swooping off a building with Batman's grace before stalking into the alley between the Century building and an unnamed office.

"Isn't this where we saw him a few weeks ago?" Jason asked, and Barbara nodded as she brought up a map that was clearly marking their known sightings of him, as well as his movements. This was the first time he had gone back to the same place. "Is there any significance to that spot? I checked them out with Roy, there was nothing there," Jason said.

"Are you kidding?" Damian asked, suddenly, and a real-life pair of eyes, as well as a set of virtual ones, whirled upon him. Damian grunted in indignation, and elbowed Jason out of the way so he could get closer to the screen. It was so much smaller than the ones that were now lying in the rubble of the once-Batcave.

"Here. Here, here," Damian said, tracing his finger along the map and hovering over several locations where Owlman or Talon had apparently been seen at one point or another. "These are all hidden entrances to abandoned smuggling tunnels."

Barbara began typing away furiously at her computer, the sound of her clacking audible over the link.

"_I don't have any record of these," _She said after a moment, a look of concentration on her face as she continued to search.

"They are well-hidden," Damian said.

"_I can see everything in the area via old satellite imagery. Nothing weird from old thermals_._ No old Gotham pipework, or anything like that,"_ Barbara was saying, clearly shifting through old footage since nothing new except video feeds she had hacked were available anymore.

"We've checked them all out, too," Jason mused.

"Well obviously you didn't know what you were looking for," Damian grunted. "They are spaces camouflaged by other spaces. Grayson and I found them when we were trying to track a thief. We thought he was a meta-human at first who had some sort of teleportation ability, for the way he seemed to vanish so quickly. It took us awhile to figure out how he was doing it." Damian looked thoughtful for a moment, before he leaned back and crossed his arms. "There's information of this on the server. Surely you have a backup of Batman's documents."

Barbara leaned back, looking surely. "He's _probably got backups somewhere. I don't."_

"Babs here and Brucey weren't exactly getting along when he decided to pull the fast one," Jason said, clapping Damian on the shoulder.

"Well. It's a good thing you have me, then," Damian said, snidely.

"Some people would say having a pet tiger is a good thing, but no one ever really agrees with them," Jason said. Damian ignored the comment and leaned forward to examine the map again.

"Why would Grayson have revealed the locations to Owlman? Surely they wouldn't be an exact replica from his planet, based on the perpetual changes of urban scrawl alone."

"You need to quit watching HGTV, kid," Jason muttered.

"_If I didn't know about these places, you can bet Grid doesn't. Maybe Dick bargained for a safe place to keep Alfred away from him. Is there anything room-sized down there, little D?"_

"Yes, several. They were once used for storage," Damian said. Even so, the thought of Pennyworth hidden away in one of the damp, dingy places did not sit well with him. Certainly Grayson would not have agreed to that.

"Right. Suit up then, kid," Jason said. Damian didn't need asking twice, and lurched towards the other side of the room. He could hear Barbara speaking over the monitor.

"_Is he really ready?" _Damian glanced back, and saw Jason shrug as he leaned forward, his hand hovering over the monitor.

"I need him to show me those spots. Comm me any updates." There was a static _bzzz_ of the monitor powering down, and they returned to their corners to change into their appropriate outfits. Damian was grabbing the black costume he had arrived in when something soft but heavy hit him in the back.

He grabbed a handful of fabric that was now draping over his shoulder, and pulled. He found himself holding a gray and black Kevlar weave, all of it very familiar down to a dulled stealth version of his classic R.

"Found it in Wingding's safe house. Thought it would be useful. Might be a bit small, I dunno."

"Do you think it wise to advertize Robin here?" Damian asked, sounding slightly skeptical. He kept his voice contained, though inside his stomach tightened. The idea of donning his old costume again- even an off-color version- made him feel more at home than anything could.

"I don't think it'll matter much. They'll perceive us as an enemy either way, thanks to your little stunt a few days ago. Besides, you'll need the armor. Gear belt's hanging over there. Suit up."

45 minutes later, Red Hood and Robin were crawling down a narrow access pipe half way across the city. They were making slow progress, sweeping for traps as they went. Damian had selected an entrance that had yet to be used by Owlman in hopes of avoiding them, but if Owlman was anything like Batman (which they knew he was) his paranoia would have him setting up snares at all potential entrances to his lair. Except unlike Batman, his would likely be specially branded to maim or kill.

"How did you guys even find this place?" Jason muttered; his shoulders just brushing either side of the tunnel. It was brick-lined and slippery, and moved at a steep downward angle. They'd anchored cords at the top and went down feet-first. Jason was forced to stoop and descend awkwardly on his knees, his neck craned to once side.

"Patience and fine detective work. Two things you clearly lack, or you would have located the entrances by now," Damian said.

"You, patient? Does that make me the King of England?"

"Perhaps the Queen."

"...Well she's still alive and kicking, so I'll take what I can get. Stop."

"What are you-"

"_Stop_," Jason hissed, reaching out to grab Damian's hood. The boy looked up in annoyance, but Jason held up his hand sharply to silence him, before he pointed down to the bottom of the chute.

It was clear now, because a faint light had appeared. The chute seemed to open nearly level with the ground; a shadow passed by the two-by-two foot square opening. A moment later, a voice wafted up the tunnel. The words could not be made out, but the accent was distinctly British.

"Pennyworth," Damian hissed. Reaching down, he swiftly unbuckled his safety cord. He felt Jason try to grab him, and hissed at him to stop again- but it was too late. Damian allowed gravity to take over. He slid swiftly down the chute, his heels clicked together sharply before him and his hands guiding himself along the rough walls.

He popped free of the wall twenty-five feet down, into a much wider tunnel. The circle of light had moved beyond the entrance, but it stopped abruptly and turned around.

It only took moments for Damian to realize that something was wrong. The man that stood before him in a black suit, holding aloft a lantern, was not in fact the kindly yet fierce Butler who resided in Wayne Manor. The man's face was deathly pale and white, his hair green. Very much so a geriatric Joker.

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Imposter," He spat, his hand flying for his belt.

"_Ha_. And you are, boy?" He asked. His left hand began to move upward; Damian flung a well-aimed batarang to knock his hand away from whatever he had been reaching for. The man seemed largely non pulsed.

"Surely you didn't think I was talking to myself, boy." His eyes flicked upward, and Damian turned just in time to witness a fist flying into his face. He fell to the ground, hard. The Pennyworth Imposter stepped to the side to avoid the fight, moving along the wall.

Damian squinted upward through his watering eyes (his nose definitely felt cracked) and found himself staring up into a round pair of reflective goggles, the face of an Owl embolden on his chest.

"Hasn't anyone told you birds aren't frightening, Imposter?" He growled, pulling his feet back to his chest and kicking upward. Owlman easily dodged, but allowed Damian to regain his feet. Damian really wished he'd brought a katana; slicing the man's smug expression right off his face would have been all too satisfying.

Owlman easily sidestepped Damian's roundhouse kick, and reached out to stop his ankle dead in the air. Damian tripped, and found himself hanging awkwardly upside down. The man lifted slightly, looking down at him. The 'R' residing on his own chest swung into view.

"Hasn't anyone told _you_ that….Robin?" The man's lip twitched slightly, and Damian took it as a sign of surprise. "I was under the impression that your breed was _extinct,_" he said. He swung to the side, sending Damian crashing into the wall. "I was _also_ under the impression that they were trained by your Batman. Perhaps it is you who is the imposter."

Damian looked up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. His eyes narrowed.

"Unfortunately for you, I already have one of your kind in a larger model." Owlman said. Damian could just make out a glint of steel in his hand, and detected the micro movement of the man's arm reeling back to attack when they were all interrupted by a faint whistle.

Jason stood in front of the chute that they had descended down together, his arm wrapped taught about the green-haired Alfred's throat. He had a pistol pressed against his temple.

"Uh-uh," Jason warned; Owlman's hand had twitched in preparation to attack.

"Release him," Owlman growled. The likeness to Batman's voice was uncanny.

"Alright. And then maybe he can make us some tea, for our tea party. Since I'm the Queen," Jason drawled, tightening his grip on the man until he made a choking noise. Damian quickly regained his footing and slid past Owlman to head for his partner.

"I propose a trade. This model for ours," Jason went on. "You should hope he's in good shape, because if he's not Greeny here is gonna become a mirror." Jason shifted slightly beside the chute, and as he did so Damian saw the line he had used to descend down wrapped around the thin man's waist. One quick tug and it would recoil, pulling the Pennyworth up and away.

"Release him, and I may allow you both to leave," Owlman said, his hand resting on his belt. He shifted his pointer finger to the side and depressed a button; and immediately there was the faint, high-pitched whine of several remote detonation devices gearing up.

"So you would do that, crush yourself?" Jason said, shifting again. Positioning himself, preparing. His head tilted slightly in Damian's direction, where the boy was now standing close by. It was a simple, unneeded gesture- _get ready,_ it said.

"I'll take my chances."

There was no countdown. A series of micro explosions rattled the section of tunnel, and everything happened in quick succession. Jason tugged on the line; Pennyworth jerked back into the hole with a screech. Jason went next, but not before locking his hand with Damian's. It was going to be a bumpy ride.

It went smoothly, for about two feet. And then, a vice-like grip clamped around Damian's left ankle and he was jerked to a halt. Damian felt Jason's fingers dig in like talons, but with force on both sides there was considerable strain. Damian could distinctly hear Jason yelling, but it was drowned out by a deep rumbling and the sound of brick slamming brick. The chute was caving in around him. The pressure on his ankle increased; there was a pull, and Damian's hand slipped his glove. He last saw Jason reaching for the clip on his belt, perhaps to release the harness, when the ceiling caved in. Bricks and dirt cut them off from each other, and a stone to the back of the head cut Damian off from consciousness.

His vision spotted black, and he was sliding backwards.

* * *

This whole getting-knocked-unconscious thing was getting to be annoying. Damian's eyes slit open before closing again; the room was dark.

He was not alone. His motor skills and strength may have waned thanks to the Lazarus Pit, but his mind was still sharp. He sensed movement as it approached, and lashed out grab a hand just before it could lay upon his chest.

"You should know that startling me while I sleep leads to broken bones," Damian warned.

"Well. By all means I must thank you for not snapping my wrist like a twig, Master Robin." Alfred's voice was soft and unmistakable. Hearing it so close now, he didn't know how he could ever have mistaken the Imposter's to be this man's. Damian's eyes snapped open to find Alfred leaning away, turning up a small LED lamp.

"You're alive," Damian said, beginning to sit up. Alfred looked back at him, the ghost of a smile under his gray mustache. The pale white light made him look gaunt, but largely unharmed.

"I have been saying the same of you since you arrived," he said, and abruptly leaned down and unabashedly wrapped his arms around the young bird. He held him close in a tight hug, and Damian suppressed a wince as bruised ribs twinged.

"Yes, I have been for some time. You, we were not certain about," Damian said, when the hug relented. He could see the man's eyes were glassy, and the butler didn't bother to turn away to wipe them.

"Master Richard has kept his eyes on me," Alfred said. Sitting up slightly, Damian cast his gaze around he meger room. He was lying on a cot. The floor was comprised of well-compacted dirt, though flat cobblestones that showed in the corners led him to believe that it didn't go very deep. The light Alfred had turned on rested on the ground. There was a lone pot sitting along the wall that made Damian's lips curl up in disgust at the knowledge of what it had to be. Other than that, there was no furniture in the ten-by-fifteen room; the ceiling rounded, with a door on the far end.

"You're a prisoner," Damian said.

"For now," Alfred agreed. "And though I am overjoyed to see you, I am sorry that it is down here."

"The masonry is better than it is in the Cave," Damian offered, and Alfred rose his weary brows in surprise.

"Humor, Master Robin? I'm shocked," He exclaimed, though he looked momentarily pleased. "The Cave is no longer, I'm afraid."

"So I heard. We're making do." Damian sat up, letting his feet side over the edge. He still had his shoes, but his belt had been stripped along with his gloves. He felt along the seams to check for his concealed lock-pick, but it was gone.

"Master Richard removed your uniform of its usual necessities," Alfred said, a tone in his voice that Damian could not quite place. "For our own safety."

Damian looked at him. Alfred seemed reserved, but as he normally did. All of their faces, though; Jason's, Barbara's, and now Alfred's- wore that same expression.

"...Is he still ours, Pennyworth?" Damian asked, his voice quiet and dampened by he room.

"He is, young Master. Through and through. Do not doubt that." Alfred had put his hand on Damian's shoulder. He let his gaze wander away, finding it once again on that pot tucked into the corner. It was the only thing to look at. Everyone kept saying that, the same thing- but signs were beginning to point in every direction but the right one.

"We'll get out," Damian found himself saying. "Reguardless. Red Hood has your doppelganger," he said.

"_Ah_. So that's why our lovely host was in such a welcoming mood when he deposited you here. I was curious," Alfred mused. The hand remained on his shoulder, and after a little while Damian leaned into it. Alfred moved his arm to encompass the boy's small shoulders, and Damian was comforted by the warmth he man provided.

"Do not doubt him, Damian," Alfred repeated, his voice soft in his ear.

Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself?

* * *

**A/N: As usual, thanks everyone for your reviews/follows. I decided not to bring in Dick's POV at this time, since it's largely Damian's story and I don't want you to know things he doesn't right now. ;) We will get to see a lot of him in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed.**


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